


The E(X) Files

by AvaRosier



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Betty and Jughead are in the FBI, But they used to actually be married, F/M, Jughead is totes the Mulder in this duo, fake marrieds, x files au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 08:02:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20170897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/pseuds/AvaRosier
Summary: The descent into Eldervair is easy...Exes Betty and Jughead are forced to partner with each other on a x-file case that takes them to the mysterious gated community known as Eldervair Court.Camp Riverdale 2.0: Theme Four, Fake Dating





	The E(X) Files

“_Welcome to Eldervair Court, please enter your code now_,” the pleasant, computerized female voice prompted. Betty groaned, because of course she had stopped the white Toyota Highlander too far away to reach the keypad. In her defense, this car was given to her by the Bureau as a part of her cover and she’d only been driving it since this afternoon. The thought of the mountains of paperwork she’d have to fill out if she so much as scratched its paint filled her with dread.

“_Please enter your code now_,” the recording prompted again. Was it her imagination or did the recording sound exasperated? Betty cracked the driver’s side door open a fraction and leaned through the window to punch in the numbers she had memorized the night before.

“_Please enter your co_– Welcome home, Mrs. Fletcher.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing that, do you, Snookums?” The sardonic male voice piped up from the passenger seat. 

Betty breathed through her nose, silently counting down from ten before she turned to glare at her pretend husband for the next few weeks. Agent Forsythe Pendleton Jones (“the third, unless you have a daddy or necrophilia kink”), aka Jughead, was partially slouched in the seat. He no longer sported his ever-present crown beanie, though Betty wouldn’t put it past him to have it stashed in a box somewhere. For someone who had his head covered most of the time, his hair looked criminally good.

And Betty had a right to complain- the humidity had made her hair wavy and frizzy. Inherit her mother’s ‘great hair’ genes, she did not.

“Speak for yourself, Buttercup.”

Jughead wasn’t Betty’s usual partner, but Kevin was taking a well-deserved vacation. (His reaction, when he found out Jughead and Betty would be partners? “_Oh dear god, there’ll be no self-restraint there. None_.”). Jughead didn’t have a usual partner; he’d been heading up the X-Files division on his own in his tiny basement office.

She wasn’t sure if she’d been partnered with Jughead because she was one of the few agents who didn’t make fun of him, either behind his back or right to his face, or because her superiors were tired of her go-getter personality and quick close rate on cases. Or they had decided ’_who better to pretend to be husband and wife than two agents who used to be married to one other_?’

Barely sparing a glance at her ex-husband fidgeting in his seat, Betty moved the gearshift back into 'Drive’ and steered the vehicle through the now open gates.

Eldervair Court was a massive, walled community in upstate New York— built into a partially cleared section of Fox Forest. As they began to make their way down the winding drive, the multitude of trees gave attractive cover, but nearly blocked out the sky entirely. Given that the weather that day was overcast with gray skies, Betty was immediately unsettled by how isolated she already felt from the world beyond the walls.

The trees faded away just enough to reveal rather enormous but attractive red-brick houses, each on top of a sloping grass hill, with stone steps and pathway leading to the front door. Georgian architecture, Betty thought. Maybe revival, maybe original. Just how old was this community? They hadn’t been able to figure out when Eldervair Court was incepted.

The houses were all completely identical; the lawns perfectly manicured with attractive rows of rose bushes. Not a single speck of what might be termed 'character’ could be found. They looked, for lack of a better word, _perfect_.

It gave Betty war flashbacks to her own childhood.

“These aren’t houses,” Jughead muttered, right leg jiggling anxiously as he stared out the window. “These are mini-mansions.”

Betty frowned, the surrealism getting to her. “Yeah, I wouldn’t say it’s all very Stepford Wives, but…”

“More David Lynch’s _Blue Velvet_ meets Tim Burton?”

“Something like that.”

As she turned into the driveway, Betty spotted an expertly coiffed redhead in a black sleeveless blouse and red palazzo trousers standing up on the porch with a ruby-red grin on her face. Clearly she was the welcoming committee.

“Showtime,” Betty muttered as she plastered on the smile she’d learned from Alice Smith Cooper.

“It’s almost like meeting your mother all over again,” Jughead groused under his breath, eyes trained on the woman on their new porch. Betty didn’t even dignify that with a glare.

As they exited the SUV, the moving truck with two other agents backed up into the space next to them. The weather here was still warm for late September, so Betty had dressed semi-casually according to a popular Fall Fashion Pinterest board and Jughead wore a nice pair of new black trousers and a blue sweater that did fantastic things for his eyes.

(She’d given him that sweater several Christmases ago.)

The redhead sauntered up to them on towering red stilettos. “_Bonsoir_, Fletchers!” She trilled. Now that they were closer, Betty could make out the shape of the woman’s broach— it was a spider.

_'Will you walk into my parlour?’ said the Spider to the Fly._

She was met at the top of the driveway by a petite pink-haired woman, this one dressed in all black and floral platform ankle boots. Once she struck the perfect couples pose, the redhead addressed Betty and Jughead: “Welcome to Eldervair Court, we’re the Topaz-Blossoms and yes, we’re domesticated lesbians.”

“_Cheryl_,” the pink-haired woman scolded lightly, the soft smile on her face telling Betty she was used to her wife’s dramatics.

“Sorry TT, I didn’t mean to engage in bisexual erasure. 'Domesticated lesbians’ just has a better ring to it. Forgive me, _mon amour_?” Their noses rubbed together in an Eskimo kiss before Cheryl remembered her new neighbors existed. “As you can see, EC is a progressive, open-minded community, as long as you keep your lawn up to regulations!”

Sensing that Jughead was about to make a sarcastic comment, Betty beat him to the punch. “That’s wonderful! I’m Juliet and this is my husband, Holden,” she introduced them, patting a hand on Jughead’s chest to warn him to watch his mouth.

And also sell that they were definitely a married couple, not a pair of divorced FBI Agents. Nothing to see here, let’s move on.

“I’m Toni,” Pink Hair said with a small wave. “Cheryl and I live two doors down, next to the Andrews’.”

Cheryl clapped her hands. “Now that we’ve dispensed with the niceties, since you two took your sweet time arriving, we’re going to have to hurry if you’re going to make the six o'clock cutoff.”

“Cutoff?” Jughead frowned. Glancing down at her phone, Betty saw it was 4:51.

“The six o'clock cutoff? All move-ins must be completed by 6 PM. It’s in the R&Rs.” Cheryl intoned, as if that ought to have been obvious.

Toni at least had the grace to look regretful. “Yeah, you’re really going to need to brush up on the Rules & Regulations. They’re the price we pay to keep this community successful.”

“We’ll definitely read it through carefully,” Betty promised. “It’s just been so busy lately, what with the move and all…”

Cheryl had already whipped out her phone and her thumbs flew over the screen. “I’ve conscripted some of your new neighbors into helping with the unload. With my superior delegating skills, we’ll have you moved in in no time at all!” With a flip of her hair over one shoulder, she was off, barking out orders at the people crossing the street towards them; Toni made a beeline for the moving van.

Betty and Jughead shared a look before they made their way to the front door. In front of the columns on either side of the porch sat two statues, their grotesque features seeming to leer at her. Gargoyles. They were gargoyles. A shiver made its way down her spine. _Keep it together, Betty_, she told herself as she slid the key they’d been sent into the lock.

From the entryway, the view of the home was magnificent, there was no other word for it: high ceilings, paneled walling, and tall windows that let in plenty of light. There was a sweeping staircase and the hardwood floors looked to be dark maple and wide planked. Jughead curled a proprietary arm around her back, resting his hand on her hip.

“Now, Lambchop, what do you think? Is this the place for us or what?”

They’d lived in a tiny two-bedroom in Queens, a paradise before Jughead’s undercover gang assignment destroyed them from afar.

“It’s right out of a dream, Bugaboo.”

_Tap-tap-tap-tap_. Shaking off her sudden melancholy, Betty turned at the sound of heels on hardwood on to face Cheryl’s approach. “This place is downright immaculate,” she pretended to gush. “I would love to send the previous owners a Thank You note.”

Cheryl made a disinterested noise. “Whatever suits your sensibilities, Juliet dear. You can give it to me and I’ll send it on to them,” she said with eyes downcast, pretending to study a scuff mark on the floor.

_No, you certainly won’t_, Betty thought with a vicious stab of satisfaction at catching someone in a clear lie. Because Dilton Doiley was dead and his wife, Ethel, had gone missing.

A steady stream of people with boxes started coming through the open door. In the distance, Betty could see their undercover movers unloading the first of their carefully selected furniture. Now, there was a job: join the FBI and use your interior design degree to stage undercover agents’ homes to help sell their cover.

“So,” Cheryl carefully enunciated. “What _is_ it that you do?”

“Oh, I’m the social media manager for an event planning company in the city and Hols here is working on his third novel.” Betty beamed with pride at her pretend husband’s achievements. Thanks to Amazon and Kindle Unlimited, it was disturbingly easy to backstop Holden Fletcher’s novelist career in such a way that it was believable that the couple could afford to live in Eldervair Court.

The Bureau hired out-of-work English Majors and MFA degree-holders to do things like this, too.

Cheryl made another noise, clearly not impressed by _what it is that they do_.

That’s when it got a bit weird. A redheaded man, who had been introduced to them as 'Archiekins’ by his immaculate wife in pearls and a dark plum sheath dress, shouted out the time.

“5:40!”

The stream of neighbors turned into frenzied rapids. Before they knew it, all the boxes were inside, as well as the furniture, if not in the exact room they belonged. By 5:58, everyone was exiting the house with words of welcome and half-formed plans to have dinner tomorrow night.

“We’ll leave you to it. Toodles, Neighbors!” And with that, Cheryl closed the door with a flourish behind her.

“Dear god,” Betty groaned, shoulders slumping.

“Yeah, nothing weird going on here at all,” muttered Jughead before he turned away from the front door. “Hold on, you didn’t let me carry you over the threshold—“

Betty simply rolled her eyes and made her way toward the kitchen. They’d brought two coolers full of food to last them until they could go grocery shopping tomorrow. The Bureau had only intended to give them one, but Betty had renegotiated the second, knowing what kind of appetite Jughead had. She wanted to get the perishables into the fridge before it was too late.

She stopped short when she caught sight of the two items on the granite countertop. “Ju-” she caught herself in time. “Sweetie, come see what our neighbors left us!” she called out.

In less than two seconds she felt the heat of him at her back. “Well, wasn’t that nice of them?”

Next to the enormous, spiral-bound binder that proclaimed 'Eldervair Court: Rules and Regulations’ on the cover, was an ivory box with two detailed black-and-white creatures stenciled onto it. Inside the ornate red frame, written in Gothic lettering were the words:

_Gryphons & Gargoyles_

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe I wanna continue this someday? But will I ever find the time amidst eleventy billion other fic ideas? Who knows, not I.


End file.
